"Close quarters here," said he, looking round as if the place
were new to him and smiling to himself.
"Not so close as we all come to one day," said I.
"Dismal comparison!" he rejoined; "you've lost your
spirits."
"Not so," I retorted; "nothing but my liberty."
"You know the way to find it quickly," he suggested.
"The letters for La Pompadour?" I asked.
"A dead man's waste papers," responded he; "of no use to him or
you, or any one save the Grande Marquise."
"Valuable to me," said I.
"None but the Grande Marquise and the writer would give you a
penny for them!"
"Why should I not be my own merchant?"
"You can--to me. If not to me, to no one. You had your chance long
ago, and you refused it. You must admit I dealt fairly with you.
I did not move till you had set your own trap and fallen into it.
Now, if you do not give me the letters--well, you will give them to
none else in this world. It has been a fair game, and I am winning
now. I've only used means which one gentleman might use with
another. Had you been a lesser man I should have had you spitted
long ago. You understand?"
"Perfectly. But since we have played so long, do you think I'll
give you the stakes now--before the end?"
"It would be wiser," he answered thoughtfully.
"I have a nation behind me," urged I.
"It has left you in a hole here to rot.
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